


now our hearts are racing

by iPhone



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPhone/pseuds/iPhone
Summary: For a few moments, the car is silent. Beca takes the blessed opportunity to breathe and not look at how cute Chloe looks in her jacket and shorts. Or how nice her neck looks, framed by loose tendrils of soft, red hair.“I bet you won’t last an hour,” Chloe says, breaking the silence.or—Beca and Chloe in a failed exercise of self-control.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 31
Kudos: 213





	now our hearts are racing

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Afterglow" by Flores.
> 
> this is so messy i dont know what this is but i just wanted to post it and free it from my mind.
> 
> inspired by the sendrick pic. yes, you know the one.
> 
> unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

There is a very specific look in Chloe’s eyes all night. If Beca had to describe it, it’d be the kind of look she could write songs about, sure, but she’s not exactly certain her label would be too happy about the content exactly.

It’s a look that sends a very specific rhythm rushing through Beca’s body, ending somewhere between her legs—a myriad of emotions and a very specific heat coming together with the promise of sweet, desperate relief.

 _Fuck_.

Her thighs clench together.

“Stop it,” Beca murmurs. She fixes her gaze on the scenery beyond the window to distract herself, but she isn’t _seeing_. Instead, she sees Chloe’s smile, the barest hint of it within the window’s reflection.

“I’m not doing anything,” Chloe responds. “You, however, look beautiful.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Beca says immediately, turning to face her girlfriend—her _fiancée_ —and fixing her with a stare.

Chloe’s smile is radiant and disarming and it makes Beca feel all kinds of sentimental. Gross. “What am I doing?” Chloe asks.

“Being all—“ she gestures vaguely. “—you know.” Beca lowers her voice, glancing surreptitiously at their Uber driver who is paying no attention and chatting away through his earpiece. “Like _that.”_

Chloe’s smile becomes a grin and Beca decidedly does not like that. “Like _how_ , Mitchell?”

“Like…how we almost got kicked out of Aubrey’s housewarming just two weeks ago,” Beca says very quickly, her ears choosing that exact moment to grow hot.

Chloe snickers—the _audacity_ —and runs a comforting hand over Beca’s knee, just under the hem of the, as Chloe put it, “very pretty and totally you” red dress Beca is wearing. “I don’t think that was my fault at _all._ ”

Beca’s jaw drops. “Yes it was!” She shoves Chloe’s hand off her knee before pointing an accusatory finger. “You were doing that stupid thing with your—your face and then—“

Chloe sighs, almost wistfully. “—and then Aubrey somehow figured out why we were in the bathroom.” She moves her hand back over Beca’s knee, this time sliding up a few inches. “Tense?” she questions innocently, noting the very stiff way Beca is sitting.

“Wary, you heathen,” Beca mutters, but makes no move to get Chloe’s hand off her skin again. Instead, she sighs and gently flips Chloe’s hand around so their fingers can intertwine.

For a few moments, the car is silent. Beca takes the blessed opportunity to breathe and not look at how cute Chloe looks in her jacket and shorts. Or how nice her neck looks, framed by loose tendrils of soft, red hair.

“I bet you won’t last an hour,” Chloe says, breaking the silence.

“ _Chloe._ ”

* * *

It’s honestly kind of rude, the way Chloe just assumes, correctly, all these things about Beca. From the moment they met, she has slowly and systematically torn down all of Beca’s walls at a comfortable-enough pace that Beca hadn’t even realized it had happened until suddenly she had her hands tangled in Chloe’s hair and their lips pressed firmly and desperately together.

(It’s a story for another time, but it is a story that Beca will never forget. Beca can recall _everything_ about their first kiss, from the salt she could still taste on Chloe’s lips and tongue from the tears they shed together and the way Chloe’s hands had clenched tightly into the fabric of her t-shirt, like she was afraid to let her go. To this day, Beca is still amazed that Chloe clung on that tightly, so much so that she hadn’t given up hope in any regard.)

Chloe assuming that Beca wouldn’t last an hour isn’t necessarily _right_ , but it’s not far off the mark either. Beca just knows she’s in for it when Chloe decides to take off her jacket and check it as opposed to carrying it with her like she would usually. Beca opts to leave hers on, keeping her eyes trained on the way Chloe’s necklace sparkles when it catches the light, nicely accentuated against incredible collarbones.

Beca swallows nervously, taking Chloe’s hand as they make their way through the crowded area. The space, alive with people and music, is shockingly spacious for a New York City bar. Though the lights are dim, Beca catches the assortment of drinks and food scattered on various tables and mismatched chairs. It vaguely reminds her of college and though the thought makes her nose wrinkle, she pushes it down because Beca _had_ promised her one of her co-producers she’d attend his going-away get-together (“not a party”, she was promised) and she really just can’t have a reputation for being the label buzzkill as much as the tabloids would love that.

It also helps that pretty much everybody with whom Chloe comes in contact is immediately enamored by her and amazed that Beca could land _that_. It’s honestly a weird concept to Beca, that most people these days would say the opposite as her fame continues to grow—that Chloe is the lucky one—but how wrong they _all_ are because Beca knows (and Chloe has confirmed) that time was just on their sides. Beca is amazed that Chloe loves her every day and Chloe has expressed a similar sentiment—her amazement at how they continued to be in each others’ lives so significantly and powerfully.

(Most recently, a similar expression from Chloe and just the morning before: kissing the side of Beca’s face and the corner of Beca’s eye as they both slowly woke from slumber. Chloe’s fingers gently pressing against Beca’s stomach, holding her close. Beca never felt more content to awake in the midst of a dream. Then, Chloe had murmured just how much she loved her—how lucky they were that their paths crossed again after everything—before tilting her head gently to press the sweetest of good morning kisses against her lips.)

But really, it’s more that Chloe doesn’t know how much she exudes sheer sexuality (or maybe she does and Beca’s just a fucking chump) by simply existing. It’s in every smile and every brush of her hand against Beca’s arm like a ghost intent on haunting her for the rest of her life (she can hear Chloe’s voice already: “But I’m a cute ghost, right?”).

Or that she _does_ know and she really doesn’t care (as much as she claims she does) about Beca’s well-being. Beca makes the mistake of looking at Chloe briefly as they near the too-small table her coworkers have commandeered. She has to quickly look away because Chloe is smiling at her— _leering_ at her, really—and slowly licking her lips in a completely inappropriate way for their public setting.

Beca is already thinking before she gets to the table.

The thing is, being intimate with a person regularly, as awesome as it is, just means that Beca _knows_ things now. Knowledge she had not been privy to before (back when she had her head firmly buried in the sand). One of those new nuggets of wisdom happens to be that she knows how much Chloe likes having her ears touched. It had surprised Beca at first, when she had grazed Chloe’s ears a little bit roughly during a heated make-out session, but Chloe hadn’t complained. Quite the opposite—the whimper she had let loose, right against Beca’s neck had been enough of a tell.

So naturally, Beca as a quick and adept learner is keen to apply her knowledge with precision.

These days, ear-touching? It’s almost a surefire way to get Chloe riled up in a pinch.

As Beca nears the table, she tries to school her expression into one of total innocence, but she knows Chloe has already picked up on a shift in the air because her eyes immediately narrow on Beca.

“Hi,” Chloe greets, reaching up to accept the drink from Beca’s hands. “Thank you—oh.” She is not prepared for the way Beca immediately plants herself right on Chloe’s leg and drapes an arm over her shoulder. “Hello,” Chloe greets again, though with a noticeably different tone. Beca tilts her head to smile at her.

“Hi.” Chloe’s hand slowly comes up to hold her hip. Beca refuses to falter even though it’s like every little touch she gets from Chloe is enough to set every last nerve aflame. “You wanted a rum and coke, right?” she asks in the steadiest voice she can muster.

Despite that, Chloe’s eyes narrow in suspicion, though the gaze is offset a little by the various lights dancing across her face. “Yeah. Thank you.” She relaxes for a moment, this time tilting her head up to press a quick kiss to Beca’s lips. Beca resists the urge to deepen the kiss immediately for a multitude of reasons, one of which is that there are many pairs of eyes attentively on them at the moment and the other being that she doesn’t want Chloe to know exactly what she has planned.

Sighing, Chloe settles back and leaves her arm around Beca’s back comfortably. Beca takes a sip of her drink innocently, shifting discreetly on Chloe’s leg. The faintest thrum of heat rushes through her body, but she pays it no mind for the time being. Instead, she carefully lifts her hand from where it rests just over Chloe’s shoulder and lifts it to first play with strands of Chloe’s hair near her ear. Chloe stiffens, but relaxes as she pinches Beca’s hip gently in warning.

“I have to know, Chloe,” Beca’s (extremely intolerable and annoying) co-worker, Dean, begins to say. Beca briefly tunes in but focuses primarily on twirling the wisps of Chloe’s hair. “What _is_ Beca like at home?”

At that, Beca shoots him an annoyed expression while Chloe shifts a little uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“Like is she constantly attached to her computer? Working? Outperforming us all the time even when she’s not in the studio or office?”

Beca can just _feel_ Chloe’s protective hackles start to rise. She rolls her eyes. “He’s joking,” she says loudly, finally speaking. “He’s just jealous because my album’s being fast tracked and his isn’t.” She tilts her head just enough so it barely leans against the side of Chloe’s head and bares her teeth in a blinding smile. “Isn’t that right, Dean?”

Chloe giggles, relaxing a little bit. “I don’t know,” she admits, a playful lilt to her voice. Beca groans internally. Chloe and her penchant for dramatics. “You’re _so_ attached to your headphones and laptop.” She drums her fingers against Beca’s hip. “Like... _super_ attached,” she says, adding a raised eyebrow for effect.

Beca raises an eyebrow of her own, barely stifling the way her body seems to clench involuntarily at the ever-so-subtle tightening of Chloe’s fingers against her hip. She slowly lifts her hand to Chloe’s ear, gently running the tip of her index finger against the soft, delicate skin of her earlobe. Somehow, Beca is still vaguely aware that the conversation continues around them, but the strikingly hot expression that flashes through Chloe’s eyes at that exact moment sends the most peculiar rushing sound through Beca’s ears.

She strokes her finger down around the curve of Chloe’s ear, watching as even under the dim lights, a visible flush rises up Chloe’s neck to her cheeks.

 _Stop_ , Chloe mouths.

Beca grins, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“Brat,” Chloe murmurs, just low enough for Beca’s ears to pick up on.

* * *

They end up in a secluded corner after Beca’s coworkers end up engaging in a rowdy sing-off across the way from the bar. Totally and completely not by Beca’s design, she and Chloe are engaging in a heated make-out session probably a touch too inappropriate for a very public space. Beca can’t bring herself to care, not when Chloe’s lips glide over hers with purpose. Not when Chloe’s teeth catch onto her lips gently at first, then firmly.

A gasp escapes her when Chloe tugs her lower lip with force. Beca finds herself further breathless and intoxicated off Chloe’s touch when Chloe’s hand curls posessively around her back and onto her waist with such a solid, precise grip that Beca can do nothing more than press herself further into the oversized chair and Chloe’s body.

Beca fumbles with her drink, letting the empty glass drop to the table by their side. She doesn’t hear glass breaking so she immediately refocuses on Chloe’s lips on hers. Chloe tastes sweet and sharp, like the perfect mixed drink on a hot day.

She grabs Chloe’s wrist, sliding Chloe’s hand roughly up the inside of her thigh, moaning softly when Chloe’s fingers graze the rough lace of her underwear. It takes a few seconds of languid, soft kissing before Chloe fully realizes just where her hand is. Her hand shifts, her knuckles brushing against the front of Beca’s underwear. Beca is so far past being embarrassed and yet she still finds it in her to blush when Chloe’s hand pauses the moment she realizes exactly how wet the fabric of Beca’s underwear is.

“You’re filthy,” Chloe murmurs, low and quiet against Beca’s mouth. Beca barely registers that, nodding a little frantically before pulling Chloe’s face back against her own. Still, Chloe pulls back, breathing heavily. “Here?” she questions. Her knuckle grazes Beca’s clit, causing her hips to jolt. “Right now? Where everybody could see?”

Beca almost says yes.

She almost agrees.

Almost begs Chloe to fuck her hard right in that fucking arm chair. She _could_ give in. She can see it in her mind’s eye: Chloe’s hand and arm lewdly displacing the fabric of her dress—a dress perfect and fitting for such an occasion—and just sliding her hand up her thigh until she hits the apex of Beca’s thighs. The soft exhale of Chloe’s breath when she realizes how wet Beca is already. The flash in her eyes—a combination of determination and lust—which Beca would struggle to see; she would struggle to hold on to Chloe’s gaze in the darkness and she would struggle to simply keep her eyes open long enough.

Instead she steadies herself and stands abruptly, casting a surreptitious glance around to ensure nobody had caught them. As if she is completely unaffected, Beca smooths out the crinkles on her dress and tries not to smirk at Chloe’s mild slack-jaw. Instead, she reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Chloe’s ear.

Chloe stands as well, a little abruptly for all her usual grace and care. “Where are you going?” she demands over the bass all around them.

“Bathroom,” Beca says without bothering to check if Chloe will follow her.

* * *

(But she knows she will.)

* * *

Chloe doesn’t follow her immediately, which Beca finds both disappointing and relaxing. She quickly takes a steadying breath as she grips the sink with both hands.

“Stop it,” she hisses at her reflection. “Calm _down_.”

It normally isn’t this bad when she and Chloe go weeks without seeing each other. It’s hard knowing that Chloe still has to finish this last year of veterinary school while Beca’s stuck in Los Angeles putting the finishing touches on her second album. It’s hard being apart for long stretches of time, especially after the exhilaration of their engagement. _Especially_ knowing that they have the rest of their lives together.

But Beca’s impatience tends to run thin these days.

Her eyes flick up to the door when it pushes open slowly, revealing Chloe’s carefully-neutral expression. Slower still, Chloe lets the door close behind her before reaching out to lock it behind her.

“Unlocked?” Chloe asks in a light tone. “What if I were a stranger?”

“I’d tell you to get out,” Beca replies.

“You would, huh?” Chloe says in a tone that suggests she’s done talking. Still, she takes the time to wash her hands slowly, making Beca’s eyes zero in on the action. She licks her lips in anticipation. “Are you telling me to get out now?” Chloe asks, making her way over as if they have all the time in the world.

In a sense, they do. They always will, when it’s just the two of them.

Beca’s breath catches immediately when she feels Chloe’s hand slide around her waist before settling firmly on her belly. She grunts when Chloe’s body pushes tightly against her back, trapping her against the sink.

“You’re terrible,” Chloe mumbles, lifting her chin to hook over Beca’s shoulder. Her breath is warm against Beca’s neck. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” Beca echoes faintly.

Chloe reaches under her dress abruptly to snap at the elastic of her underwear. Both the sound and the sensation immediately cause a flood of wetness between Beca’s legs. Instinctively she tightens her thighs and presses her legs together, but only for a moment because Chloe uses her own leg to gently kick her legs apart. Beca groans at the sensation of cool air hitting the sticky, wet skin between her thighs, embarrassed at how soaked she is and how much she aches for Chloe to just touch her.

“You _so_ want me to touch you right now, don’t you?” Chloe asks. Her free hand, the one decidedly not holding Beca’s limp form up against the sink, slides up the bare skin of Beca’s arm, right to her shoulder before gently reaching up to ghost over Beca’s neck. Like a feather, Chloe’s fingers gently brush against Beca’s skin, never lingering in one area too long. Beca longs to clamp her legs together again, but Chloe’s foot is still firmly planted against the inside of her left foot. “Right here?” Chloe rasps, voice thick and hoarse right against Beca’s ear. “In this bathroom of all places? Where anybody could see?”

“I’ll be quick,” Beca blurts before she can even stop herself. She’s too fucking turned on to be embarrassed. “Fuck, baby, just two fingers, _please_ —”

Chloe’s fingers are suddenly on her neglected, swollen clit, firm and unforgiving. Like floodgates, Beca feels everything all at once—the stickiness between her thighs, the steady, muted pulse just between wet folds, and the incessant ache that cries out for Chloe’s fingers, her tongue. All of it, all at once, like a freight train of arousal.

Beca yelps, her head hanging forward as her hips immediately bear down on Chloe’s mercilessly still fingers. She’s aching and desperate and just so ready to fucking _come_ —since Chloe fucking _looked_ at her when they left Beca’s apartment. All those fucking glares and heated gazes from across the bar—

Beca whimpers, rocking her hips just right so that Chloe’s fingers slip against the soaked fabric of her underwear, right against where she aches for Chloe to sink her fingers. Gasping then, her eyelids flutter shut and she loses herself in the sensation of rocking wantonly against Chloe’s fingers, reaching out to brace herself against the sink. She can almost see it in her mind’s eye, not unlike earlier: the way her dress is displaced indecently, how flushed her cheeks are, Chloe’s lips ghosting along her neck.

She could come just like this.

Right against Chloe’s hand and Chloe wouldn’t have to take off a single item of clothing. Right there, in the heinously lit bathroom, right against a white, porcelain sink, Beca Mitchell—Grammy nominee, chart topper, Chloe Beale’s fiancée—could _come_ —

“Fuck!” Beca hisses when Chloe removes her hand abruptly. She takes a moment to breathe heavily, panting while her clit throbs in the absence of Chloe’s fingers. She can’t bring herself to look up in the mirror’s reflection (even though she’s pretty certain that Chloe is smiling, _the fucker_ ).

Chloe’s breath comes out in a sharp burst against her ear, startling her. The arm around her waist tightens ever so slightly, holding Beca upright. It is the warm breath that warns Beca, but she can do little to prepare.

“I could let you do that, you know,” Chloe murmurs. Her voice is low—lower than her usual tone—and dripping with all kinds of promise. “Just rub yourself desperately against my hand until you come.” Beca whimpers in desperation. “But then nobody wins.”

“I don’t give a fu—” Beca chokes, splutters then. Chloe’s hand is back between her legs, cupping her dripping cunt delicately over the ruined fabric of her underwear. She groans at the sensation, finally lifting her eyes to stare reproachfully at Chloe through the mirror. Chloe’s eyes are dark, almost impossibly so.

And _hungry._ Beca knows she could get Chloe to cave, if she would just shove her damn underwear to the side and—

“I love seeing you like this,” Chloe rasps, her voice still low and thick against Beca’s ear. Her eyes seem to brighten when she realizes Beca is paying attention to her; that Beca’s eyes are fixated on her; that Beca is, and always will be, completely trapped by Chloe Beale in more ways than one.

“Chloe,” she whispers, spinning around as best as she can in Chloe’s arms. She winces when her hip and lower back hit the sink, but the pain is soon forgotten when she reaches up to pull Chloe in for a wanting, messy kiss. Moaning softly, she keeps her touch light, cupping Chloe’s cheek and jaw and slanting her lips just right. “Don’t stop.” Chloe’s hands are suddenly smoothly sliding under her thighs, lifting her firmly onto the edge of the sink. Disregarding the precarious balance she has, Beca quickly wraps her arms around Chloe’s shoulders, pulling herself closer to Chloe’s warmth. She shudders, breathing out a stuttered breath against Chloe’s neck. “ _Please_.” She nips at Chloe’s jaw. “Chlo,” Beca murmurs. She’s not in control of her own actions anymore. She just needs Chloe to touch her—to take care of her like she always does without fail—before she combusts on the spot.

“Make it up to me when we get home,” Chloe mumbles against Beca’s mouth. “Because we’re going home after this.”

“I promise,” Beca whispers. “I—” she is cut off by Chloe’s fingers bypassing the ruined fabric of her underwear and slowly sinking into her. Two, as requested.

Chloe’s mouth immediately covers her own again, stifling the cry that leaves Beca’s lips. Three weeks without feeling the familiarity of Chloe’s fingers pressed inside her, having to make do with her own hands. Left to her own devices.

The pressure is enough, so much so that it is almost overwhelming. Beca bucks up against Chloe’s hand as best as she can while Chloe attempts to hold her upright lest she fall right into the sink. Beca manages to grunt through the force of Chloe’s thrusts, gripping hard to hair at the back of Chloe’s head: “More.”

Chloe makes a strangled sound, somewhere between a whimper and a moan and her wrist twists so she can accommodate one more finger between Beca’s legs. Trapping her lower lip between her teeth, Chloe pulls back to watch Beca’s face for any discomfort and to observe the sheer pleasure that crosses her face at the exact moment Beca feels it.

“Oh fuck,” Beca whimpers with the little breath she has remaining. She drops her hips against Chloe’s hand immediately, eyes crossing at the feeling of three fingers pressed tightly inside her. She clenches, barely, and rocks her hips against experimentally. Chloe’s fingers twitch inside her. “Fuck,” Beca whimpers. “Fuck, Chlo–”

Chloe pants against her ear, pulling Beca as close as she can—as close as she dares—with her hand trapped between their bodies. A high-pitched whine sounds from Chloe—a tell that Chloe is on the verge of her own orgasm or at least somewhere close—and that alone is enough to set Beca off. It’s too much.

Finally, _sweet_ aching relief courses through them both. Beca, more than Chloe at the moment, if the expression on her face is anything to go by.

“Breathe,” Chloe whispers, pressing a lazy kiss against Beca’s jaw. “You’re okay,” she promises with her own shaky breath.

Beca takes a deep breath to steady herself, trying not to gasp too desperately. She likes that Chloe’s hand lingers for a moment between her legs before she pulls her fingers out achingly slow. Beca’s body thrums, clearly not finished with the night.

Eventually, Chloe steps away and helps Beca slide off the sink, both of them demure and muted in wake of their very public and very inappropriate lust-fueled sex.

Chloe begins washing her hands and Beca figures she should do the same to just take her mind off things and offer herself some relief in the form of cold water. But it is Chloe’s voice who breaks through her haze once more.

“You had a promise to fulfill, right?”

* * *

Beca makes good on her promise and then some—she figures it’s the least she can do.

And how much she can do, she thinks, gazing at Chloe’s wet and swollen folds between mercifully-spread legs.

“Beca,” Chloe says in warning.

Before Beca can wonder exactly why her brain is so hardwired to respond to Chloe’s voice when it’s like that, she simply succumbs to the feeling of being wanted and needed—being wanted and needed as much as she feels for Chloe (as she does always, but tonight has been an excess of emotions just a bit more than usual).

Chloe’s lips part in an exhale, momentary desperation flashing in her eyes when something in her façade crumbles at the sight of Beca on her knees between her legs. “Please,” she whispers, reaching out to tangle her fingers in Beca’s hair. She does not tug or pull, simply holding Beca’s head in a show of affection and love amidst the heat.

This is all Beca needs.

* * *

Beca rotates her sore jaw around for a moment before she licks the taste of Chloe off her lower lip. Chloe’s body is so far up the bed at this point, her legs bent and spread with an obscene amount of wetness streaked along her thighs. Beca tilts her head, admiring a visible bite mark along the soft skin of Chloe’s thighs.

Even though the muscles in Chloe’s legs continue to twitch and spasm for a few more seconds, Beca can’t resist as she reaches out to trace her fingers lightly up Chloe’s legs, starting from her knees and ending just at the crease of her thigh. Her fingers catch on the come streaked along soft skin, the sensation alone sending heat rocketing back between her legs.

Already, the memory of the club is far in the recesses of Beca’s mind, but the phantom memory of simply _imagining_ Chloe’s tongue between her legs—since Chloe had so rudely _not_ gotten to doing that—jolts Beca's arousal again. Reminds her of the ache between her own legs. 

“You’re so pretty,” Beca murmurs, smiling in a saccharine way at Chloe’s slightly dazed expression. She switches gears and quickly musters an innocent expression and bites her lip, waiting for Chloe to respond.

Chloe doesn’t respond for a moment, lifting a hand to comb through her own hair. Her body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, her hair is plastered to her forehead, and her cheeks are rosy—visible even under the dim light of their bedroom—with some exertion. Beca just admires the view, specifically the rise and fall of Chloe’s chest and, as Beca rises on her knees to crawl over her girlfriend’s body, the prominence of her collarbones.

Just as Chloe starts to settle down, Beca sits astride Chloe’s waist and bites her lip when her clit licks up against Chloe’s skin. Chloe’s eyes open and she tilts her head with interest to see Beca gazing back at her.

“Hi,” Beca says, attempting nonchalance.

“Hm,” Chloe hums, making no move to do or say much else other than move her hands up Beca’s thighs.

“Chlo,” Beca murmurs.

“Beca,” Chloe responds. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “C’mere,” she mumbles, sitting up to meet Beca for a kiss. Beca takes her time languidly tracing her tongue over Chloe’s lips before slipping her tongue inside Chloe’s mouth. Softly, Chloe moans, tightening her grip on Beca’s hips in a brief show of possession even in the privacy of their bedroom. The kiss is lazy, but Chloe’s lips and tongue are thorough, like she is trying to taste herself off Beca’s lips.

Chloe nips at Beca’s bottom lip before releasing it. “It’s not fair,” she murmurs.

“What isn’t?” Beca asks, distracted. Chloe’s hands are allowing her to start a slow rhythm, back and forth in her lap.

“You still have your dress on,” Chloe replies, pulling at the tight fabric at Beca’s waist.

“Should I take it off?”

Chloe chuckles. “It might be more fun if I take it off.”

The ache between Beca’s legs only intensifies when Chloe tugs the dress over her head. With her eyes still on Beca’s face, she tosses the dress aside before her hands trace a familiar path up Beca’s stomach to her breasts. Beca exhales, low and heavy, keeping her eyes on Chloe’s as best as she can, no matter how much she wishes to close her eyes at the sensation of Chloe’s thumbs flicking across her painfully-stiff nipples. An answering sensation pulses between her legs again, feeling less and less like an ache and more like a want.

A hot, desperate want making itself known with every press of Chloe’s fingers against her skin.

“Having fun?” Beca asks, less steady than she’d like. Her breath catches on the second syllable and her eyelids finally flutter shut when Chloe’s fingers pinch at her nipple.

“Kind of,” Chloe says simply, before moving to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Beca’s chest, circling around her nipple before finally enveloping pebbled flesh. Beca’s hips jolt at the sensation, canting down into Chloe’s lap.

Chloe moves her ministrations to Beca’s collarbones, her kisses becoming soft and slow—her kisses eventually become languid nips and sucks along her neck, eliciting a series of coos and breathless whines from Beca’s throat. Clearly pleased at the sound, Chloe lifts her head and giggles before capturing Beca’s lips again, clearly intent on being frustrating.

But the want Beca feels isn’t quite satisfied.

She wants Chloe again.

Before Chloe realizes what is happening, she shifts so she is pushing Chloe onto her back. Chloe’s eyebrow rises in interest as her gaze flicks between Beca’s eyes and Beca’s kiss-swollen lips. The determination and fire in Beca’s eyes stokes the heat between Chloe’s legs more and she shifts, rubbing her legs together, ever-mindful of the way Beca’s gaze tracks over her face and body with rapt attention.

Beca kisses her. Hard.

One of Beca’s hands slips between Chloe’s legs. Chloe doesn’t notice it at first; she is too preoccupied with Beca’s tongue to feel her fingers sliding along Chloe’s thigh, lightly slipping across soft skin until they tap against Chloe’s clit in a sudden, incessant rhythm. The action causes a full-torso jolt and a quick, quiet grunt to leave Chloe’s lips.

“Chloe?” Beca asks quietly.

“God, please.” Chloe would be remiss if she didn’t acknowledge how much she had been craving Beca’s touch all night. She is only aware of just how much she wants her now, with Beca’s hips cradled between her legs; with Beca’s hair tickling her shoulder as it drapes over Beca’s shoulders messily; with her aching cunt pressed against Beca’s midsection without any real discernible pressure.

“How,” Beca starts, licking her lips, “do you want me to touch you?”

Another question, another spike of heat between Chloe’s legs. The pleasant reminder and even more vivid memory of Beca eagerly eating her out just moments earlier float to the forefront of Chloe’s conscience.

“Your hand,” Chloe says instantly, her hips twitching in anticipation already. “Your fingers,” she clarifies, clearing her throat at the instant darkening of Beca’s eyes.

Beca’s hands are quick to obey, one arm sliding around her back in a loose, easy hug, while she trails her other hand down Chloe’s stomach, fingers skimming gentle abs and soft skin. Beca’s nose comes up to brush against Chloe’s, a gentle barely-there kiss following. The gentle, comforting weight of Beca’s body atop hers shifts into more than just pleasurable warmth. Chloe can feel every last nerve-ending alight with the sensation of Beca’s warm body against her own; every last sensation of sweat-slicked skin against sweat-slicked skin feels like another jolt of pleasure.

Beca’s touch is so light and her affections are surprisingly gentle. Chloe’s body thrums incessantly with so much heat and desperation that she almost loses it right there, at a gentle graze of Beca’s teeth against her lower lip. Finally, Chloe’s head tilts back as Beca’s hand reaches her clit, deft fingers gently scissoring around swollen flesh.

A loud whimper escapes as Beca presses the heel of her hand to Chloe’s clit and her index finger runs up and down Chloe’s wet slit. Chloe’s hips rotate in a slow grind against Beca’s hand—lazy, deep circles—following the press of Beca’s hand. The ever-present throbbing deep in her belly makes itself known even more. Hot and wanting, the sensation dips with each swivel of Chloe’s hips; with each dip of Beca’s fingers.

And finally—

Chloe cries out, unable to refrain from restraining herself. Her head drops to Beca’s shoulder, eyes falling shut quickly.

Beca’s fingers are so warm, dipping just barely into Chloe’s entrance as a warning of sorts before Chloe’s hips shove up impatiently and she’s slipping inside even more. Chloe is keenly aware of how wet she is now—how easily Beca’s fingers are gliding through her folds (but not in where Chloe’s cunt aches for her love greedily).

Beca’s breath is hot against her ear. “Fuck, Chloe,” she exhales with reverence. “You’re soaked.”

An obvious statement all things considered, but it is the way Beca says it with pure sex and want dripping from her voice. Her voice is low and raspy, like so much emotion sticks in her throat, unwilling to escape just yet.

It makes Chloe want to elicit more sounds from her—makes her want to draw out every last ounce of pleasure from Beca until she is hoarse from screaming Chloe’s name.

(But Beca can try again later.)

All Chloe can focus on is how her world has started to blur at the edges. The build-up doesn’t take long. Chloe’s body feels so fucking full, like she burst at any moment. She clutches at Beca’s shoulders, digging her fingers into soft muscle and prominent shoulder blades.

Beca’s wrist twists and her fingers slide all the way inside Chloe.

“Fuck,” Chloe hisses. “Bec, right there.”

Chloe comes very close to feeling tears in her eyes. Her eyes sting, nothing more, but she feels momentarily overwhelmed by how well Beca’s fingers fill her. She thought she had felt full before, but now—“more, baby,” Chloe grunts, pushing her hips to the limit of how far Beca’s fingers can fill her. She tries to shift to afford Beca more room and together, they work in a third finger into Chloe’s opening—a reminder of how it had felt when Chloe had three fingers of her own inside her fiancée not too long ago.

A strangled groan erupts from Chloe’s throat. With Beca’s three fingers pressed so tightly together inside her cunt, she begins to finally see white around the edges of her vision. Gasping, she rocks her hips back and forth before lifting herself and dropping herself back down on Beca’s fingers. There is no rhythm, Chloe thinks. Not here—not in this bed with Beca Mitchell of all people. For once, neither of them can fathom a rhythm, not when all Chloe knows is Beca’s body pressed against her own.

“That’s it,” Beca rasps. “You’re so fucking tight, Chlo. I can feel you around my fingers.”

It takes a moment to formulate words, particularly as Beca is not typically prone to being verbose during sex. “I have so been wanting you all night,” Chloe whispers in response. “God, I’ve been thinking about this since I fucked you in the bathroom. Fuck, Beca—fuck—you’re so good to me.” Words are tumbling out of her lips at an incredibly fast pace until she is nothing but a mess in Beca’s arms, incomprehensible sounds and bitten-off words echoing into the air around them.

Chloe sees it fully now, the white light and forces herself right into it.

She closes her eyes tighter and pushes out a harsh breath. Beca’s fingers press and circle—her thumb on her clit, her fingers pressed tight inside her—and then Chloe sees white and breaks.

Her body coils tight, muscles along her abdomen and thighs contracting as she shoves herself against Beca’s body; as she clenches hard around Beca’s fingers. Even if her fingers aren’t quite as deep as Chloe typically likes, the fullness and the stretch burns through her, white hot like the best of adrenaline rushes. She grunts, a high-pitched sound escaping her unbidden, and comes hard with Beca holding her close.

Beca’s whispering in her ear, something calming probably but Chloe is still falling and flying all at once as Beca strokes out the last of her orgasm with a steady hand.

Beca pants harsh breaths against Chloe’s neck as she flops to the side. She slips her hand the plane of Chloe’s stomach, enjoying the jolts that flutter beneath her palm.

Chloe, breathless, tilts her head to press a kiss against Beca’s forehead. “You’re so good at that,” she praises.

Beca hums a response, kind of. “Just that?” she asks. She feels Chloe laugh breathlessly, hot air coming out across her shoulder. Chloe follows it up with a kiss to sweat-slicked skin, both of them taking a moment to just breathe together. Chloe’s hand scrapes up her back to gently trace Beca’s tattoo before her grip tightens and she is pulling Beca closer to her body.

“So much more,” Chloe promises.

“Thank you,” Beca mumbles. She sighs and leans up on her elbow so she can see Chloe’s face. “I love you,” she says quietly before she gently presses her forehead against Chloe’s.

Chloe smiles, gently pulling Beca’s head down so she can kiss her thoroughly. “I love you too,” she replies through soft, sticky kisses. Beca sighs against Chloe’s mouth, immediately feeling her body warm from the feeling of Chloe’s fingers tracing pleasant patterns against her back. “Even if you were totally impatient tonight.”

Beca musters a grin, harnessing energy from the pleasant tingle she feels when Chloe’s lips touch her skin. “Who said we were done though? I think we have all weekend.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](http://isthemusictoblame.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/tizzleshizzle). :)


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